Deadly Relations (10 page)

Jennifer was going to miss Dick Mason more than anyone knew. It was Dick who’d patiently shown her the ropes when she made detective. He did it for
her
, and not to impress her dad. Dick didn’t give a damn that her father was sheriff. He wanted her to succeed and had told her that many times.

Jennifer thought she’d known Dick inside and out until the day she discovered he had a son. She thought they’d shared everything about themselves. Why did he keep that a secret from her? Perhaps he was ashamed of the way he’d left his son with his ex-wife years before and never looked back.

Dick’s estranged son, Damon Mason, was standing on the other side of the coffin and Jennifer couldn’t stop staring at him for some kind of sign that he and his father had made amends. But he showed little emotion that revealed they had.

Damon was good-looking in a rugged kind of way, with a long, lean body like his father’s that stood tall and straight. His tanned skin reflected his occupation as a conservation officer and his preference for outdoor work. His eyes were blue, but more of an ice blue, with little warmth to them. His expression during the entire funeral proceedings was as blank and unreadable as it had been the day she’d seen him at the crime scene.

Damon was her partner’s only family member, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort him. There was something off about him, and she couldn’t figure out what. She’d pulled his statement about why he didn’t secure Catherine Thomas’s crime scene. He’d written exactly what Dick reported, that he hadn’t discovered a body before and he’d become so upset he screwed up the procedures. Okay, maybe she should cut him a break for Dick’s sake. But that wouldn’t be soon. She was still pissed that valuable trace evidence, which might have led them to Catherine’s killer, was washed away by the rain.

<><><>

Sheer luck and his genius was a powerful combo. If he weren’t surrounded by so many mourners, he’d bust a gut laughing his ass off.

Dear old Dad had invited him over for coffee. Said he wanted to talk, to get to know him better. That was a laugh. He sure wasn’t interested in getting to know his son better twenty years ago when he abandoned him. Did the bastard really think he wouldn’t pay for deserting him and leaving him with a sadistic lunatic?

The house was way the hell out in the country. He thought he’d never find it. Once he did, he found himself on a long driveway leading to an old farmhouse that had seen better days. His father was waiting for him in the front yard.

He’d excused himself to use the bathroom while his dad made coffee in the kitchen. That’s where he saw the prescription bottle of Valium in the medicine cabinet and his plan was born. This day would be his father’s last. He couldn’t believe he’d been that fucking lucky. But luck didn’t have anything to do with the genius of the plan.

He stuffed several Valium in his hand, and then went to the kitchen where his dad was pouring coffee into two mugs. He offered to carry the mugs to the living room, while his dad carried a plate of cookies. Halfway there, he told Dad he needed some milk for his coffee, turned and carried both mugs back to the kitchen. He dropped the Valium in his father’s mug, and poured milk into his.

It wasn’t long before dear old Dad was too drowsy to talk. And being the good son he was, he’d helped the older man to his bedroom. He then returned to the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen towel, lifted Dick’s mug and placed it on his bedside table along with the bottle of Valium. Spilling the pills was a nice touch.

Grabbing some car keys he found in the kitchen, he went into the garage and started up the Crown Victoria. The car had a full tank of gas! Luck was with him again. He found a pen and paper and wrote a note he left on the kitchen table. All those years playing with a box of old letters from his father that Mama had kept paid off. He’d spent hours tracing and retracing each of the letters in the sentences that Dad wrote. He knew his father’s handwriting better than his own.

He slipped out of the house through the front door, carefully wiping the knob with a kitchen towel. The rest, well, was history.

Of course, that hadn’t been his original plan, which was to abduct his father, strap him to a table and give him a taste of what his mother had done to him for years, thanks to his desertion. How he would have enjoyed it.

Exhausted, Jennifer couldn’t remember a time she was more pleased to be in the comforts of her home. It had been one of the longest days and nights she’d ever lived through. She locked the front door, then took off her coat and put it in the coat closet. Glancing at her wall clock, she noticed it was already nine o’clock.

If there was one thing she detested, it was a funeral. Hell, she hated saying good-bye, period. Jennifer didn’t want to think about how much she was going to miss Dick. Actually, she didn’t want to think at all. All she wanted was a hot cup of coffee, a shower, and some food.

She walked through the living and dining room to the kitchen where she made a fresh pot of coffee. Jogging up the stairs, she jumped into a hot shower and tried to scrub the miserable day off her body and out of her mind. Turning off the shower with one hand, Jennifer reached with the other for the baby oil that she smoothed all over her body before she dried off with a thick towel. Her stomach growled as she threw on her bathrobe, letting her know she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

Downstairs Jennifer headed for the kitchen and opened every cabinet to find something to eat. Nothing. She opened her refrigerator. There were two cartons of yogurt that should have been thrown out weeks ago, a jar of olives, a half-gallon of drinking water and a near-empty carton of milk. Damn. When was the last time she got groceries?

<><><>

Blake took a deep breath, then turned his SUV onto Jennifer’s street and parked outside her house. He glanced at her living room window. Her lights were on, which was a good thing and a bad thing. It was a good thing because he hadn’t purchased the large sausage and mushroom pizza, hot-from-the-oven, nor the six-pack of Coors in the passenger seat for nothing. It was a bad thing because he shouldn’t be within a city block of Jennifer Brennan. Not only was she a detective on his team, but her father was the sheriff, for Christ’s sake.

If he had half a brain, he’d turn his vehicle around and head for home. But then, where Jennifer was concerned, he wasn’t sure he had even half of a brain. The thing was — he couldn’t get Jennifer out of his head. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Spending all day with Jennifer, interviewing suspects and not being able to touch her was pure torture. He couldn’t look at the woman without wondering what she would be like in bed. Every time he got near her, he felt this buzz of sexual awareness.

The days were tough, but the nights were worse. Each fantasy was more erotic than the last. The dreams started with removing Jennifer’s clothing slowly, one piece at a time. They ended with their bodies in a hot, slick dance until they exploded with pleasure. Inevitably, that was the moment he’d awaken on fire, panting and aroused.

He was a bastard coming here tonight. Hours before he’d attended Dick’s funeral with Jennifer and watched her grieve for her partner. He was thinking maybe Jennifer didn’t want to be alone tonight. Perhaps she needed someone to talk to. If she did, he wanted to be that guy.

Decision made. He was going in. Blake hopped out of the SUV, then reached over to grab the pizza and six-pack. Striding across the street, he jumped onto her front porch, then stopped himself before knocking on her door. He glanced over at Jennifer’s porch swing and grinned as an idea sprung to life.

<><><>

Jennifer’s fingers were wrapped around her cell phone as she searched her kitchen for the slip of paper where she’d written the phone number for pizza delivery. Not finding it in the kitchen, she moved to the living room where she searched through a small drawer in her end table.

Jennifer froze. What was that sound? There was a familiar squeaking coming from her porch. Someone was sitting on her swing. Who in the hell swings on someone’s porch in the middle of the night? She crept to the front door and opened it to confront whoever was out there.

“
Blake, what are you doing here?” Jennifer exclaimed, pulling the belt on her robe a little tighter. “Listen, I’m not really up for company.” It took only a second to take in every detail about him—his lean, wide-shouldered build, his dark hair, rugged face and impenetrable eyes. Instead of the dark suit she was used to seeing him in, he wore faded jeans, a black T-shirt and a leather jacket. The words hot, ripped, and sexy came to mind. Something heated inside her. Maybe Blake’s company was not such a bad idea after all.

“
I’m not here to visit, Jennifer.” He began. “When I was growing up, we had a swing on our front porch a lot like this one. I used to swing for hours just to relax. You see, I don’t have one at my condo and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I sat on yours for a while.”

Jennifer stared at him for a long moment. Then the mouth-watering scent of Italian spices and sauces reached her nose making her glance longingly at the pizza box next to him on the swing.

“
What kind of pizza is that?”

“
It’s a large sausage and mushroom.” Blake replied.

Good God, it was her favorite. “I’ve changed my mind about company. Come inside.”

Blake picked up the pizza and beer then entered the house. Jennifer directed him to the dining room. “There’s plates in the cabinet and napkins in the drawer in the kitchen. I’ll change clothes and be right down.”

As she flew up the stairs to her bedroom, Blake went into the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and drawers until he found the plates and napkins. He placed them on the dining room table and looked around. Even though he’d known Jennifer for five years, this was the first time he’d been in her home.

A brown leather sofa, two side chairs, and a tall bookcase stuffed with books, CDs and a stereo CD player filled the living room. The oak furniture was a mixture of antique and new. A flat-screen television graced one wall. He studied the stack of CDs. It seemed Jennifer’s taste in music ran the gamut from Lady Gaga to Blake Shelton. There was a lot he didn’t know about her, and he wanted to know everything.

He heard Jennifer coming down the stairs. “I like your house,” he said.

“
Thanks. Especially, the porch swing, right?” Jennifer grinned as she headed for the dining room and motioned for him to join her. He opened the pizza box, put a slice on a plate for Jennifer, and grabbed one for himself. She pulled out the six-pack, handed Blake a bottle of Coors, then took one for herself.

“
I’ve always liked old houses. It’s Craftsman-style, right?”

“
Yes, it was a present my dad surprised my mom with on the day they got married. This old house was renovated with love. They used it as a rental when they bought the pink Victorian house over on Washington Street. They gave it to me when I turned twenty-one.” She hoped Blake didn’t ask too many questions about the house. Thinking about the day her parents gave it to her dredged up some memories best forgotten.

Jennifer had been seven months pregnant and living with her parents, when they asked if she’d like to join them for a ride. In the car, they drove on country roads through miles of corn fields and forests, stopping only for lunch in a quaint cafe in a small town. At the end of the day, her dad stopped the car in front of the small home where they’d lived when she was a baby. Her dad opened her door and led her inside. The wall of each room wore a fresh coat of paint; the oak wood floors glistened with polish.

“
Your mom and I want you to have this house. It’s a good house for children to grow up in.” The three hugged each other tightly, not knowing that in mere weeks Jennifer would lose the baby.

Blake noticed a flicker of sadness in Jennifer’s eyes and took a sip of his beer. There was something about the house she didn’t want to talk about. He wanted to know what that was, but not now.

“
Where do your parents live?” Jennifer asked, changing the subject.

“
We moved to Orlando when I was a child. Mom and Dad bought a lot of property while it was still affordable and built condos.”

“
Do you visit them often?” Jennifer asked.

“
Not really. They divorced when I was fifteen. There was a lot of arguing and fighting over possessions during that time, including their kids. They still argue over who I’m spending time with, so I don’t see them as much as I should.” Blake glanced at her and noticed pizza sauce at the corner of her mouth. He used his napkin to wipe it off, making her grin and blush.

“
I think my parents have been glued at the hip since they met. After all this time, they’re still lovebirds.”

Blake wanted that kind of marriage someday, the polar opposite of what his parents had. The pizza box empty, Jennifer started cleaning off the table. She picked up her plate and headed to the kitchen, with Blake close behind with his.

Jennifer placed the dishes in the kitchen sink. She froze for a long moment, until Blake touched her arm. She turned around, wiping at tears streaming down her face.

“
What’s wrong?”

Jennifer picked up a coffee mug with a black-and-white drawing of a woman in a business suit, wearing a cape. “Dick gave me this mug. He said the mug would remind me I could do anything I decided to do. I just needed to believe in myself.”